And so begins book 2. Thank you to all those who read and reviewed.

Someone asked me a fair while ago if Checkmate and Showdown follow the same 'pre-canon'. The answer is no. Here Snow will take power sometime before Haymich's Games (the 50th) just like he does in canon. I don't know yet how big of a deal I'll make of that yet.

Date: Year 9, August. Two days after Mags' victory.

A guard opened the door to the President's office. "Sit and wait," he ordered briskly.

Her heart hammering, Mags walked inside. She was greeted by polished floors and white walls with inset lamps that reminded her of torches. Air conditioning brushed her skin, teasing her constricted lungs with the tasteless dry air that filled every room in the Capitol. In Creneis, every inch of the space would be used as storagen so rare were solid, sanitary buildings, but it was almost empty. A red-brown wooden desk and three leather chairs, one behind the desk and two in front. Next to it a tall cabinet proudly held a collection of books. The rest was all impossibly clean windows that took the place of two walls. Beyond them, the Capitol, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Circe, it went on forever.

Mags couldn't breathe as her feet let her closer to the windows. A gaping tear, ugly and filled with fire and ruins darkened the landscape. The explosion. She'd not imagined, she'd not - Hovercrafts dropped water on the still flaming rubble. One thousand Avoxes. The Capitol would rest on their bones until it too was turned to ashes. The 'crafts flew in squadrons, like iron bees, and in each of them Mags saw a desperate Fife and a fiercely determined Constantine flying to their deaths.

The recaps had failed to mask the hate in Fife's eyes, the searing hate that reminded Mags that one of the two would have won, would be alive to hug their loved ones, had it not been for her

Mags blinked back her tears and pushed such thoughts aside. Remember the dead, fight on for the living. Every rebel knew that loss was a dark pool full of lurking monsters. Constantine had had faith in her. She couldn't betray that. For Mama, for Esperanza, she had to stay strong. She sat on one of the two chairs in front of the desk and focused on her breathing.

Who knew how long Achlys would keep her waiting?

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.

She'd woken up in a bed, not sure how she'd gotten there, her aching back reminding her she didn't belong in big rooms with thick mattrasses. August, her stylist had been there. She'd blinked. He was fat and cheerful, spinning colored geometrical designs tattooed on every inch of his skin except for his face, and a mane of curly golden hair falling down to his shoulders.

"You have two days to pull yourself together. I'll be back then. Prove to us you don't need to be restrained."

Mags had only blinked, but August hadn't lied. Watching eyes never left her, and the two avoxes hovering around heads bowed had made sure she lacked of nothing, but for all intents and purposes, she had been alone.

The tears had come then. She had wept in the bathtub, a bathtub, with hot clean water and enough space to invite her whole family. She had wept until the water had run cold and the sun had set, until her grief crystallized into the will to do something, to make everything worth it. On the second day, she watched the official recaps and saw nothing that she hadn't expected.

Constantine's and Fife's deaths were still too raw for the pile of lies to affect her as much as it should have. She had no space left for more anger and pain. Her victory had not been her doing, it had been Constantine's and Fife's gift to her. Mags had no words, only a chest so full she was afraid she'd explode, to express how much that meant to her. Every one of her breaths, every move, reminded her of what she owed them, what she owed everyone who still hoped for justice, for something good.

She had to make their sacrifice worth it.

August had come back on the third day. He spoke of fashion, not feelings. He gave her words for clothes and fabrics, for furniture and decorations and never quite looked at her in the eye. It suited Mags quite well.

Mags stiffened when she heard steps. President Evadne Achlys wore boots like guards and peacekeepers, and when boots struck the pavement, citizen in Four knew to hide or, if they couldn't, avert their gazes and look very busy.

Achlys' strides were brisk yet relaxed -and how could it be otherwise, when she owned the Capitol-. She sat down in the leather chair, her back ramrod-straight but her expression pleasant.

"Tea? Coffee? Whiskey?"

What?

Achlys wasn't alone. A lithe man in an elegant brown suit was carrying a tray with the drinks. Despite how heavy it had to be, the Capitolite held it in one hand. A gun was visible on his belt.

"Uh - Tea, please?" Anything to occupy her hands, but alcohol would be a very bad idea.

Absently fingering her emerald chandelier earrings, Achlys waited for the manto back away to the door before turning her piecing golden gaze on Mags.

"Why did you volunteer, Mags?"

Mags inhaled slowly, willing her heartbeat to slow. If this conversation went badly, her freedom and the lives of her family would be forfeit.

"Sixteen, now seventeen, kids from District Four have died in the Hunger Games," she began, her voice already tense, "I won't bore you with their names, Madam President, but I know them all. Every year I have seen people walk, heads bowed, towards the reaping square. I thought it was the most degrading thing ever; being forced to watch your innocent children die. I... I wanted to stop it. I wanted to show that we're not beaten or weak by becoming a victor."

Mama had warned her: do not take people, especially people in power, for fools. Mags had to be as truthful as possible, or her 'awakening' would seem fake. Achlys knew she had volunteered a rebel.

"I was wrong about who was the real enemy." It hurt. It hurt so much to say it. But it would hurt to say even if Mags was being truthful about her new loyalties, because it would've meant she'd grown up believing lies. That Dad had died for lies. "I dreamed of a world full of strong rebels who'd make everything right and fair and easy, and then I met them." She breathed in, her hands clasped tight in her lap. She couldn't stop shaking. "I had thought that with rebels in charge everything would be great, but they made us kill the peacekeeper and… and they let his body be eaten by those Scavengers, who they left alive so long…."

Those weren't lies. Mags swallowed. Circe, she'd never expected it to be so hard.

"There were just so many double standards!" She said hoarsely. "They shot Keane. They didn't even give him a chance. They... they have been less forgiving than the Capitol."

But the Capitol could afford to compromise, if one of the people they gave citizenship to turned against them, they would find out and execute them. The rebels had much lesser means of surveillance and even one traitor could get them all killed. Mags expression grew dark as she thought of Cresyl. There had been no trace of him in the recaps. Erased. No one would ever know the Capitol had had a spy among the rebels.

"It should have been easy to argue with Cresyl. I... I couldn't find the words, Ma'am. And I wanted to hate him so badly! Those people pretended to want what was best for everyone and then they just used us. They…" Mags blinked and froze, stunned by the tears she felt on her cheeks.

Because it wasn't lies at all. Except it also was all lies.

She took a deep breath. She had to finish this.

"I... the Scavengers they..." she didn't even want to name them. Not even speak of them. Pity, hate, anger -but at who? Them or the Citadel?- everything was mud in her chest. Achlys was staring at her, her face betraying nothing and yet almost soft.

"I...I understand why you made those videos even if it's exaggerated. Dad died." Mags couldn't look at Achlys. She should, but she couldn't. She felt like she'd been flayed open, except she was doing this to herself. Achlys had to believe Mags had shown her everything, or Mags would never be free. "Dad believed things. Like justice. I... I didn't think he could be wrong. I... I don't think he was, about justice, but he was wrong to think rebels were justice."

Mags took a deep breath and wiped her tears. She raised her chin and met Achlys' golden eyes. "Ma - my mom," not Mama, not when 'Mama' was Spanish, "was right."

"Your mother didn't want you to volunteer?" Achlys said softly.

Mags shook her head, hoping her desperation, the real reason behind it, did not shine through.

"I... I thought she'd given up. That deep down I'd make her proud but that because of Dad and everything, she'd lost hope. She didn't make a scene during the goodbyes because she's a much better person than I am. I… in the end I didn't want them to die, none of them, but it's because of people like Wickers that Dad is dead. And I could see all those peacekeepers, people just doing their jobs, people Constantine knew, who were shot like animals. I just…"

Mags let it spill, every guilty thought, every selfish grudge against the rebels. Many of these things she had made peace with long ago but lingering resentment was easy to summon.

She almost lost track of her thoughts as she thought of Fife and the ease with which the girl had spun stories. Mags stumbled over her words, silenced by guilt. She'd decided that her life was worth more than Fife's. Than Constantine. Than all of them. It had been easy. She'd had a plan. It hadn't felt so crushing then. She'd not expected the dead, her dead friends, to cling to her ankles like this.

"Your mother is no doubt in your new house by now."

Mags started, broken out of her musings. Circe, she had to focus. Focus! But her face betrayed her. Mama was safe, really?

Achlys smiled at her fear, a small smile that looked honest enough to scare Mags.

"Mags, you, your little sister, your friends have nothing to fear. Not more than before you volunteered, anyway, laws are still laws. But the Hunger Games are over. You are given a new life and money. Use it. The Districts rebelled, demanding priviledge without understanding what a nation needs to sustain itself. Now you are given priviledge. With priviledge comes some duties, such as mentoring, and the expectation you grant the occasional interview. The rest is up to you."

It was too beautiful to be true. Mags failed to keep all suspicion out of her tone. "I don't want to be presumptuous, maybe my vision was tainted by what I was taught but-"

"We want you to see that Panem's prosperity is our main goal," Achlys interrupted. She flashed Mags a wry smile. "How would threatening you or putting you under tight surveillance convince you of anything except that those outlaws were right about us? We want your goals to be our goals. There is no miracle solution to eradicate all poverty, but I wish for every lawful citizen to live in dignity and find happiness. There is much to rebuild, and I know how much I am asking of this nation, but what this generation does, the next generation will be grateful for. There won't be the Dark Days to pay for, so already, it will be easier."

Mags almost choked on her tea, hating the hope those words birthed. "No Hunger Games?"

"If the Districts learn their lesson, if there is no major dissent for over a decade, the Games will be abolished." Achlys pressed her lips in a thin line. "But the last years have not been very promising."

Mags felt her insides twist and churn as all her instincts assured her that the woman was being genuine. She would have preferred someone ruthless and cruel to this earnest leader, persuaded that she was acting for the good of the nation. Mags wanted to believe Achlys, and that terrified her.

"Sylvan Grey said that you have been giving District people power," Mags said after a short hesitation. There'd been no filmed proof of his death and she clung to that, desperately.

Achlys sighed, bringing a hand to her short white hair. Tiny gemstones outlining griffins in flight were embedded in her polished nails.

"It's quite tragic how rebels with the right facts come to the worst of conclusions," the woman said, shaking her head in aggravation.

Replace 'rebels' by 'Capitol' and Mags would have raised her teacup in agreement.

"A person's birthplace doesn't always determine their worth," Achlys elaborated, "for all there is a lot to be said about upbringing and education. Not all Capitolites are worthy and some District citizens truly distinguish themselves. Those are promoted. I will never dismiss any who wish to serve." A small smile graced Achlys' lips. "The great majority of the rebels we captured three nights ago became quite reasonable after having talked with our officials. They will be put on probation in their home district and I believe they will give us little trouble. Groups with lofty ideals make people unreasonable, but individuals generally can effectively choose what is best for themselves and their families. I hope the other citizen will learn from them and stop clinging to poisonous fairy tales."

Mags had straightened at the mention of the rebels, betraying her interest for any scrap of information.

Suddenly, she realized why Evadne Achlys was so dangerous.

In the past, whenever Achlys had appeared on TV, Mags had not truly listened to her, because the President was the enemy and Mags had been certain that only rebels were lucid about what was moral and just. But now that Mags was willing to listen, if only to play her part, the President threatened to shake the very foundations of her beliefs. Mags had been too used to brute strength to appreciate the danger of soft spoken rational-sounding words. - the great majority - talked with our officials - choose what is best -. What threats and methods lay hidden behind those words? What darkness would Mags discover were she to shadow one of those Capitol officials?

The President stood up and walked to the window. Like this, she stood above the Capitol. Alone, in an almost empty office. Mags fidgeted, uneasy and finally decided to stand up too. It was so removed from her world that a part of her expected to wake up in the creaky humid warehouse, dawnlight spearing through the cracks and painting the coarse rope with gentle hues.

"So, what will you do with all that money?" Achlys said softly.

Mags froze. "Uh -" She'd rehearsed this. She knew what she wanted to say. "Give Mom and my sister a home. I want Creneis, and the whole of Four, to be better. The water was poison for so long and there's been so much to rebuild that we've been rushing and... There are old sailors, they know so much, but they don't have the time to teach others. Boats don't get repaired because there's no money and if the people who know repairs die, nobody will remember how. I want..." Mags took a deep breath. "I want to build an academy of sorts. I also want to train people there, for the Games. To be like me and help me."

Any type of training would have to be disguised as something to boost the district industry; besides she had already planned to give good job opportunities to the trained children who would never be reaped. Those were the ones that would make a true difference.

Achlys nodded, but her eyes were too sharp still. Even if Dad was dead and Mama was a master at laying low, Mags was the daughter of rebels: she'd become used to be ignored by most, because associations could be dangerous. She couldn't remember an adult paying her such keen attention as Achlys was doing now.

"The Capitol will welcome an increase in productivity and so will District Four," Achlys said. "You feel qualified to manage this project yourself?"

Mags took a deep breath. "I know this whole academy will be work, I know I don't know much, but all our good whalers are over thirty-five now and my mother says the reports report more broken ropes and ships sent to the shipyards than ever…" Mags cleared her throat. "I... there's enough simple things to do at first that we just need someone who has the means to organize it. I want to be that person."

Please don't ask more questions, please believe me, please let me go. Mags' hands were clenched so hard by her sides that she feared they would snap.

Achlys smiled, a broad smile, revealing perfect teeth. "Every victor should aim to serve their district. We must show the people that we can work together for the happiness of all. I will keep Capitol interference minimal as long as you don't get overwhelmed." Circe, what did that mean? "Do not feel punished. You have no qualifications, so it would be absurd to let you fail when we have specialists. As I said, as long as you don't fail, I have no qualms letting this be a District Four success and keeping my people here." Her eyes grew softer. "You would have sacrificed everything for your ideals, Mags. Now your ideals are the right ones. You should have no regrets."

Mags swallowed as she nodded, feeling faint. Achlys' voice was vibrant and warm and nothing in her attitude belied her apparent goodwill. When had hating individuals become so difficult? Achlys was the top of the chain of command in the Capitol. The Hunger Games were her brain child! Hating her should be as easy as breathing. Instead, Mags was starting to wonder if people were not lying to Achlys about the state of the districts to line their own pockets. The President sounded too concerned to be a heartless despot.

A terrible thought entered her mind. What if Achlys truly believed all she said? Was she truly so evil, so monstruous, that she sincerely believed that she acted for the good of Panem?

Mags' mind was reeling. She had to get out. "Thank you, Madam President, for giving me a chance to be who I should have been since the beginning," she said, her voice shaking.

"Denying you it would have been a terrible waste of potential," Achlys said, gesturing at the man besides the door.

A flash of hate and guilt passed over Mags' face as she turned to leave. Because Fife and Constantine dying was no waste?

"One last thing, Mags Peregrine-Abalone."

Dread filled Mags' stomach as her she braced herself for the worst. This was it, Achlys was about to call her out on her lies and avox her.

"You prepared before volunteering. You have skills that make me suspect you found things at the bottom of the ocean that could be classified as weapons."

They knew? Achlys gave her a small patronizing smile as Mags' shock showed on her face.

"We need volunteers like you." What? "Or should I say, like that. Tell me why. Tell me why I tolerate those who find weapons and learn to be lethal in order to volunteer."

Okay, Mags wasn't about to be avoxed. That was good. The fog of panic lifted and she tried to think. She shook her head.

"Do you remember the second and third Hunger Games?" Achlys' face was suspiciously blank.

Mags remembered. The second Games had been the worst. Those people, they'd not wanted to play. None of them. None of them had been volunteers. The arena had killed almost all of them. The third... it had looked at first it would be the same thing, but instead, everybody had begun attacking everybody the second day. Like wild beasts. It had made no sense at all.

"We sent them notes during the third Games." Now Achlys was cold, her jaw set. Mags could feel a shiver prickling the back of her neck. "We reminded them they had families at home and that if they didn't do their best, the families would pay."

Circe, what -

"Volunteers make this unnecessary."

"Ah," Mags managed, too horrified for more.

Achlys laughed, a brief but genuine laugh. "You hate this, girl. I'd be worried if you didn't. Realizing your beliefs are wrong can shatter a weaker person, but the truth is worth it. Being humble and honest with yourself is the only way to become a good person, Mags. The world is a harsh place and we must accept to make some sacrifices for the greater good. You are on the right path now, you will not regret your choices."

A nervous grin broke Mags' lips. The most feared woman in Panem saw herself as humble, honest and real? Mags managed a polite nod before the door was shut behind her. Her mind was still reeling. She was certain of one thing: Evadne Achlys made her skin crawl.

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